
^ 



hantkhr 




HarrvS-Chester 

\ ^ "ii^y — 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf. .H-4JT W ^ 
\<^00 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






HARRY S. CHESTER. 



WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



HARRY S. CHESTER. 



EX-KHAK.T, IJ^D. 
TRUTH PCBX-ISHINQ HOUSE, 

leoo. 



20917 



65301 



Library of Congress 

Two Copies Received 
JUL 13 1900 

Copyright entry 

SECOND COPY. 

Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

—JUL 171900 



BY 
HAKKY S. CJHESTERr 



To my friend, Hon. C. G. CONN, 
this little book is respectfully d'edicated. 



If this little book impart 
Joy unto a single heart 
Better far for me than gold 
Recompense a thousand fold. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGB. 

When the Light Goes Out 1 

The Old Year 4 

Unidentified 6 

The Old Home 9 

Out At Dunlaps Station 11 

Recessional 13 

A Strain of Music 15 

True Love That Never Dies 18 

The River Styx 19 

Gentleman Jim 22 

Christiana Lake 23 

Organ Grinder's Song 26 

Nellie Dale 27 

The Blue and The Gray 30 

The Old St. Jo 31 

O Happy Youth 33 

Easter 34 

Life Is But A Round of Pleasure 35 

At Blenheim Castle 36 



A Di-eam of Life 37 

After Winter Comes The Spring 41 

It Might Be Worse 42 

Since Nellie Went Away 45 

You Can't Please Every One 48 

A French Idyl 49 

Smoky Run 50 

The Wakarusa Band 52 

Toast To The Ladies 54 

•' Whirrul "It 57 

Our Boys In Blue .58 

Lullaby 59 

Santiago 60 

The Privates And Tlie Crew 61 

Frog Quartette 63 

TheClock 65 

The Typical Tramp 67 

As We Are 70 

Dewey's Comin' Home 73 

It's Better To Believe 75 

B. P. O. E 78 

My Little Baby Boy 80 

Our Own Jack Tar 81 

Old Glory 82 

The Old Cane Pole 83 

Tale Of The Tyro 84 

Lef ebre 87 

Washington 89 



WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT. 

THO' yer lamp o' life is burnin' with a clear 
an' steady light, 
An' it never seems ter flicker, but it's 
allers shinin' bright ; 
Tho' it sheds its rays unbroken for a thousan' 

happy days- 
Father Time is ever turnin' down the wick 

thet feeds the blaze. 
So it clearly is yer duty ef you've got a thing 

ter do, 
Ter put yer shoulder to the wheel an' try to 

push her through : 
Ef yer upon a wayward track yer better turn 

about— 
You've lost ther chance ter do it when the 

Light 

Goes 
Out. 

Speak kindly to the woman who is workin' for 

yer praise. 
The same way ez you used ter in those happy 

courtin' days ; 
She likes appreciation jest the same ez me an' 

you, 
An' it's only right an' proper thet yer give her 

what is due. 



Don't wait until her lamp o' life is burnin' dim 

an' low, 
Afore you tell her what you orter told her long 

ago— 
Now's the time ter cheer her up an' put her 

blues to rout— 
You've lost ther chance to do it when the 

Light 

Goes 
Out. 

Don't keep a puttin' matters off an' settin dates 

ahead- 
Tomorrow's sun '11 find a hundred thousand of 

us dead ; 
Don't think because yer feelin' well you wT)n't 

be sick no more — 
Sometimes the reddest pippin hez a worm-hole 

to the core. 
Don't let a killin" habit grow upon you soft an' 

still 
Because you think thet you ken throw it from 

you et your win- 
dow's the time ter quit it when yer feelin' 

brave an' stout— 
You've lost the chance ter do it when the 

Light 

Goes 
Out. 

Id ruther die with nuthin' then ter hev the 

people say 



Thet I lied got my money in a robbin', graspin' 

way; 
No words above my restin' place from any 

tongue or pen 
Would liev a deeper meanin' then "He helped 

his fellow men." 
So ef you hev a fortune an' you want to help 

the poor 
Don't keep a stavin' off until you get a little 

more ; 
Ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn 

about— 

Yer record keeps on burnin' when the 

Light 

Goes 
Out. 



— 3 — 



G 



THE OLD YEAR. 

'tis not without a sigh 
I realize this hour is tliy last, 
For in thy wake a thousand memories lie 
Like changeless specters of the buried past. 



I had a friend, Old Year, a generous boy- 
Good resolutions marked his start with thee ; 

But sorrow drowned his fondest hopes of joy, 
And happiness gave way to misery. 

Aye, for a while no storm-cloud marred the sky ; 

Proudly he rode life's great uncertain ship, 
Until the rock temptation dimmed his eye 

And resolutions froze upon his lip. 

He knows the mighty secret (if to know 
Befalls the lot of every human soul) 

Of death's true meaning— of the awful flow 
Of human hearts to life's old-fashioned goal. 

I had a dearer friend, Old Year, and she 
With all a woman's grander virtues shone. 

Most nobly pure in her simplicity — 
But she is dead, and I am all alone. 

With poignant grief and sorrow thou art 
through, 

Departed one ! Sleep in thy hallowed place ; 
For like the shamrock drinks the morning dew 

One heart absorbs the image of thy face. 



Though time may change the noblest form to 
cl^y, 

And rack the living with a ceaseless strife, 
Naught can diminish memory's soothing ray, 

That slieds its beauty down the path of life. 

Old dying year, I would not have thee stay ; 

Fly on, and meet the countless thousands who 
Within thy varied chapter passed away— 

Good-by, Old Year — I enter on the new. 



UNIDENTIFIED. 

THEE' comes the undertaker's team a-trot- 
tin' down the street 

With somethin' in the wagon thet is cov- 
ered with a sheet : 

' T won't be long afore tlie crowd begins to 
gather 'round 

To see tlie undertaker fit thet somethin' for the 
ground. 

Some poor mortal's seen the last o' misery an' 
woe; 

Some poor brother knows the secret everyone 
must know; 

Somehow 't blurs a feller's eyes to think of how 
he died — 

Drownded up the river, an' he's unidentified. 

His clothin' an' his gen'ral style don't bear re- 
finement's stamp— 

The chances are thet he was some despondent, 
starvin' tramp 

Who thought thet he hed taken mor n his share 
o' sorrow's cup 

An' jumped into the river jest to wind the busi- 
ness up. 

The world ain't goin' to weepin'— jest a few'll 
gather 'round 

An' help to lift the plain pine box an' drop it in 
the ground ; 

The ordinary mortal ain't a-goin' to turn aside 

An' lose much time attendin' to the unidenti- 
fied. 



Ther' may be acliin' hearts in some far distant 

land tliet burn 
With longin' for the son o' their's thet never 

will return : 
Ther' may be little children waitin' some ers at 

the door 
For footsteps that'll fall upon the threshold 

nevermore ; 
Ther' may be one thet's prayin' for the clouds 

to roll apart 
An' let a ray o' sunshine creep into her bleedin' 

heart- 
She 11 never see the sunshine, for her hope an' 

joy an' pride 
Hez drownded up the river, an' he's unidenti- 
fied. 

We don't know who the stranger wuz or what 
he might ha' been— 

He might ha' been a hero once among his fel- 
low men ; 

He might ha' had a happy home till fortune 
turned away 

An' misery an' trouble drove him where he is 
today. 

He might ha' been industrious— he might ha' 
been — oh, well, 

He might ha' been most anything— ther an't 
no way to tell— 

Ther" an't no use conjecturin'— we only know 
he died 

Jest like a thousand others who are uniden ti- 
lled. 

— 7 -- - 



It's hard enough to see a brother laid away to 

rest 
When lovin' hands '11 fold his frozen hands 

across his breast ; 
But when yer see a feller die with not a friend 

in sight, 
It allers seems thet somehow things an't run- 

nin' on jest right ; 
An' when they put him in the ground an' mark 

his grave " Unknown," 
It makes me think thet mebbe he won't stay 

there all alone. 
For God an't goin' to pass him by an' miss him 

jest becuz 
He drownded up the river an' ice don"t know 

who he wuz. 



THE OLD HOME. 

I SAW the dear old place, Eugene, 
The home we used to know 
When life was new and cares were few 
So many years ago ; 
The old familiar house, ah me — 

The same old tree near by 
In whose cool shade we romped and played 
My brother— you and I. 

The little laughing, babbling brook. 

Where dwelt the speckled trout, 
Is running still adown the hill 

And winding in and out 
Across the verdant pasture field, 

And through the shady glen— 
With music sweet it seemed to greet 

The boy returned again. 

The fruit trees growing near the well 

With pears and apples hung. 
Gave me a treat, oh, full as sweet 

As when we both were young ; 
The time worn weather beaten post 

Where you once carved your name. 
Like some old guard before the yard 

Is standing just the same. 

The grape vine arbor lane, Eugene, 

Where you and I once played 
With joy serene — is just as green 

And deep in leafy shade. 



The honeysuckle bushes too 

Wear just as bright a dress 
As ever shown from any throne 

Or robed a fair princess. 

The happy birds were singing, oil 

Just as they used to sing 
When all the earth was full of mirth, 

And all the year was spring ; 
When sweet content and happiness 

Claimed childhood as their own, 
And grief and care and deep despair 

Were then to us unknown. 

I drank from out the bubbling spring. 

Down by the willow tree, 
Where oft we quaffed the cooling draught 

In childish ecstasy; 
But when I knelt to drink, I saw 

A face, how changed!— in truth— 
A gray haired man revealed the span 

Between old age and youth. 

Ah me, how full our cup would be 

If in our life's decline. 
One hour of youth and joy and truth 

And hope were yours and mine. 
'Twould be the dearest happiness 

That our old age could know 
To feel to-night the keen delight 

Of fifty years ago. 



OUT AT DUNLAPS STATION. 

AKES a fellow kind 'er blue walkin' tlirougli 
:®i. ther place- 
Never see a liappy smile on a single face ; 
All the joy an' pleasure of other days is dead ; 
All the hope an' pluk an' grit an' energy is fled ; 
Dreams of better days ahead, free from pain 

an' care, 
Long ago have vanished like bubbles in the air. 
Those poor souls an't livin' — jest exist from day 

to day- 
Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers 

stay. 

"They're to blame for bein' there?" Mebbe 

not, my friend ; 
Troubles sometime chase a man way up to the 

end. 
Fortune an't distributed in an equal way, 
Some are sick an' poor in youth an' poorer when 

they're gray ; 
Others allers have their health an' never strike 

a bog 
An' Fortune comes to them as slick as fallin' 

off a log. * 

Who's to blame for all the woes it's pretty hard 

to say, 
Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers 

stay. 

— 11 — 



No man knows just alius how misfortunes come 

about ; 
Lots of men have lost their grip in helpin' oth- 
ers out. 
Others pray for God's own poor, all penitent 

an' meek, 
An' squeeze a piece of money till you hear the 

eag-le shriek. 
'Taint no wonder they get rich an' keep away 

from debt, 
Grabbin' everything in sight an' keepin' all 

they get. 
Eather than be built like that, I'd jest start 

out today 
An' go to Dunlaps Station, where the paupers 

stay. 

The world is tight in' shy of 'em an' leavin' 'em 

alone ; 
Ther's no one takes much notice of a pauper's 

sob an' moan ; 
They've lost their independence an' they have 

no guidin' star. 
An' who's a-goin' to study what a pauper's f eel- 

in's are ? 
But there's a recompense for them that's equal 

to the best— 
The world can't put a price upon a sweet eter- 
nal rest, 
An' sleep '11 come to them some time an' clear 

the clouds away — 
Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers 

stay. 

— 12 — 



RECESSIONAL. 

[After Kipling.] 

f^OD of our Fathers, whose decree 
vl Sweeps emperors from high estate. 
Whose wisdom pilots destiny, 

Whose awful might determines fate- 
Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— 

We have forgot— we have forgot. 

Oppressed Armenia prays relief— 

Sore stricken Greece appeals in vain, 

While India's millions nurse their grief 
With pangs of sharp starvation's pain. 

Lord God of Hosts, desert us not — 
We have forgot— we have forgot. 

How often, oh, how often. Lord, 

When Britons bravely, blindly fought 

The rifle and the keen edged sword 
Usurped the charity He taught— 

Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— 
We have forgot— we have forgot. 

God of our Fathers, in our hearts 

Instill that christian love of old— 
Let all the joy that love imparts 

Drive out the lust for power and gold- 
Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— 
We have forgot — we have forgot. 



Where mighty navies ride the seas— 
Where serried columns guard the shore- 

We pray Tliee, Lord, on bended knees 
Let peace control forevermore. 

Teach all the world to sheathe the sword- 
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord. 



— 14 



A STRAIN OF MUSIC, 

IWUZ sett in' by my winder all alone one 
Sunday nigiit, , 
When the bells had quit their ringin' an' 
the moon wuz shinin' bright, 
An' I felt a little lonesome till ther' sudden 

come along 
The sweetest strain o' music from an old fa- 
miliar song. 

They wa'n'tno ordinary notes— they seemed ter 

throb and swell 
With a different kind o' feelin' then a pen 

could ever tell ; 
They seemed ter lift me up an' take me back 

through many years 
Of pleasure an' of happiness, of misery an' 

tears. 

I saw the dear old places thet my childhood 
used ter know, 

Where the sweet arbutus an' the tender water- 
cresses grow, 

Where the crystal water bubbles out o' springs 
so bright and clear 

Thet a drink of it 'ud brace yei quicker 'n any 
wine or beer. 

I saw the happy faces that I cherished in my 

youth. 
When life wuz full o' happiness, an' love, an' 

hope, an' truth. 



An' they seemed ter smile upon me ez they 

used ter long ago 
When the future seemed so distant an' the 

present seemed so slow. 

We sang again in chorus the old song we used 

ter sing, 
An' we pushed an' pulled each other in the 

twisted grape-vine swing, 
An' we went into the orchard where the great 

big pippins hung, 
An' we dropped 'em ez we used ter do v/hen 

they an' I wuz young. 

They seemed ter cheer me up again an' sta,rt 

me on the way 
Thet I've traveled since I left 'em down until 

the present day ; 
An' then we separated an' each took a different 

lane. 
But I somehow kinder thought thet mine 'ud 

strike the richest vein. 

An' ez I traveled on I saw the chances thet I 

lost. 
An' a thousand different slips for which the 

future paid the cost. 
An' I thought ef I could see the future ez I see 

the past 
Thet I'd make a different showin' an' a record 

thet 'ud last. 

— 16 — 



Now all those friends I cherished so are scat- 
tered far an' wide- 
Jest a few, I hear, are livin', but the better 

part hez died. 
Yet I allers see ther' faces in a happy, joyous 

throng 
When I hear a strain o' music from thet old 
familiar song. 



— 17 — 



TRUE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES. 

JI, give to me the honest heart 
Where truest love abides, 
And all the joy it can impart 
Whatever fate betides. 
No other blessing so divine 
Within our being lies— 
Oh, let this happiness be mine — 
True love that never dies, 

Oh, tell me not of priceless gems 
That brilliant lustre shed ; 

Oh, tell me not of diadems 
That grace a royal head ; 

No jewel ever held control 
Or gladdened beaming eyes 

Like that enchantment of the soul- 
True love that never dies. 



THE RIVER STYX. 

'* TJTE'RE all born free an' equal," Is a pretty 
W little speech, 

An' quite a warmin' sentiment for 

socialists to preach; 
But be it false or be it true— however it may 

be- 
lt don't take long afore we lose that born 

equality. 
For some 'r rich an' some 'r poor; some coarse 

an' some 'r fine. 
An' custom forces us, you know, to draw the 

social line; 
But there's a time when poverty an' wealth'll 

hev' to mix- 
There ain't no graded ferryboats upon the 

Kiver Styx. 



The Czar of all the Russias with an iron rod 
controls 

The earthly destiny of full a hundred million 
souls; 

For many thousan' miles aroun' his power is 
complete. 

An' rich an' poor, at his command, must wor- 
ship at his feet. 

— 19 — 



An' when his majesty desires to see a foreign 

land, 
A special train, or man o'war, is ever at his 

hand; 
But all his wealth an' influence an' diplomatic 

tricks 
Won't put a special ferryboat upon the Eiver 

Styx. 



I! 



Most any one that's ever been away upon a 

trip 
Will l^now how quick a porter moves if he can 

get a "tip," 
He'll scrape aroun' an' bow, an' smile, an' 

somehow when he's done 
Your sleepin' berth is some 'at better than the 

av'rage run. 
But there's this consolation to the countless 

millions who 
Can never feel, but only see the wonders 

wealth'll do— 
Ther' ain't no weak officials that a piece of 

gold '11 fix 
A-workin on the ferryboat that runs across 

the Styx. 



Most every one has got a greed for money more 

or less— 
A dollar's alius had its weight— an' alius will, 

I guess ; 

— 20 — 



It's pretty late to try to change the character 

of men — 
So let things be unequal here, as they hev alius 

been, 
For there's a power that is bound to level 

everything 
An" place a ragged pauper on an equal with a 

king; 
An' there's a time when poverty and wealth'll 

hev to mix. 
An' that's upon the ferryboat that runs across 

the Styx. 



— 21 — 



GENTLEMAN JIM. 

GENTLEMAN JIM was an athlete bold, 
An athlete bold was he ; 
He called for his pen and a bottle of ink, 
And shouted loud in glee. 
Then he dashed him off to Gentleman Bob 

A bristling-, tierce defl ; 
Then settled himself in his easy chair. 
And he winked his other eye. 

" I can lick the world,*' said Gentleman Jim, 

In his Lindley Murray way ; 
" I can punch the head off Gentleman Bob, 

" Or I'll eat a bale of hay," 
Tlien he murmured low, did Gentleman Jim, 

" I'm an eminent pugilist, 
" For my paper and pen and my gory ink 

"Are mightier than my list.'* 



■22- 



CHRISTIANA LAKE, 
T@ ET others sing of famous lakes and pretty 
IJ/ babblin' brooks— 

Of stylish seaside summer homes an' arti- 
iicial nooks — 
These alius have their charm for some, but I 

ain't much on style — 
I like to take it in the rough and see ole nature 

smile, 
Where waters are as clear as ever bubbled out 

0' spring, 
An' scenery would almost make a tongue-tied 

linnet sing ; 
Oh, when vacation comes again, I'll pack my 

kit an' take 
My summer recreation out at Christiana Lake. 

The black bass an' the blue gills an' the straw 

bass— say, yer eyes 
Would bulge right out to see the way they jump 

up after flies ; 
An' if 3^ou understand the art that Isaak Wal- 
ton taught 
You needn't be ashamed to show the people 

what you caught ; 
For if you ain't born tired an' you want to 

catch some fish, 
Jest take yer boat an' pole an' bait an' gratify 

yer wish — 
Oh, when the buds are bursting an' the spring 

begins to break, 
I'll slide right up an' have a fish at Christiana 

Lake. 

- 23 — 



You talk about your sunsets— say, they have 

'em pretty fah' 
In other places, but I think they never quite 

compare 
With those at Christiana Lake— the bright il- 
lumined skies— 
They somehov^ make a feller think of heavn'ly 

paradise. 
There's jest a flood of red an' blue an' gold an' 

silver light, 
That seems to try an' check the march of swift 

advancin' night — 
Old nature's richly colored paint could never, 

never make 
A grander sunset than j^ou see at Christiana 

Lake. 

The chirpin' of the robins an' the bluebirds 

in the trees, 
Mingles with the restful music of the mur- 

murin', hummin' bees ; 
An' the swishin' waters singin' 'round the 

rushes near the shore 
Make you think yer cup o' happiness is full an' 

flowin' o'er ; 
For the hustlin', bustlin' city seems a thousan' 

miles away, 
Ah' you have the change yer lookin' for as long 

as you can stay. 
Oh, better 'n all the medicine that I could ever 

take 
Is a week or two a-fishin' out at Christiana 

Lake. 



' ^ y^^ 





Oh, the pleasure without measure that is 
waitin' for me when 

Tlie wliippoorwills an' bobolinks an' thrushes 
come again, 

An' the air is full of joy an' song, an' every- 
thing is green, 

An' nature's brightest handiwork on every side 
is seen ; 

Then I'll jest live in the sunshine an' drink in 
the country air, 

An' I'll lay aside all worry an' forget each 
carkin' care. 

An' I'll gather up my tackle an' I'll make a 
bee-line break 

For the bass that's waitin' for me out at Chris- 
tiana Lake. 



ORGAN GRINDER'S SONG. 

IGRINDA, grincla, all de'day, 
Do my vera besta ; 
I don't get vera mucha pay, 
Monka he no resta ; 
And lika lotta people, I 

Travel with my monka, 
And up and dov/n the street we try 
Gather In a plunka. 

[To Monkey] 

I give you maccaronna, when 

Make a little mona ; 
I'll get banan and peanuts,'_then 

Have a lotta f unna : 
And when we getta mona heap 

Have de besta tima 
We'll eat and drink and play and sleep 

In Italia's clima. 

Organ grinda got to worka 

Maka people giva 
Got to worka lika Turka 

If he wanta liva; 
Play de operatic tuna 

Maka a greata hitta ; 
Driva people almost luna 

Pay to make me quitta. 



-28- 



NELLIE DALE. 

Q^O you never liee'rd of ]S"ellie Dale? B'gosh 
V®) that's mighty strange— 

She used to teach the districk school 

down here at Devil's Range; 
She just can't walk around at all— not even 

with a crutch — 
She hain't got any feet you see. What— born 

that way? Not much! 

You'd like to hear her story, hey? Well this is 

how it goes : 
'Tw^as along some time in March, I think, when 

everything was froze, 
When a bitin' blizzard come along an' drifted 

the snow about. 
An' caught poor Nellie an' all the kids afore 

the school let out. 

Well, the school house wasn't blizzard-proof, ef / 

it was put up to stay, y 

An' the nearest place was a farm house, a half / 

a mile away. / 

But Nellie was grit— yer bet she was— an' she 

didn't set down an' cry. 
For she knew she had to reach that house, or 

she and the kids 'ud die. 
So she bundled 'em all up good an warm, in the 

quickest kind o' style, 
An' made 'email take hold o' hands, an' line up 

single file ; 

— 27 — 



Then she started down the prairie road^ an' 

she had 'em all in tow, 
Bracin' 'em up with words o' cheer an' steerin' 

'em through the snow. 

But it wasn't the easiest sort o' w^ork ; the kids 

'ud stick in a drift, 
An' Nellie 'ud have to hustle back "an kinder 

give 'em a lift ; 
An' the wind was awful bltin" cold, an' at 

times it seemed almost 
As tho' poor IN'ellie and all the rest 'ud have to 

give up the ghost. 

But she was just the grittiest girl I ever run 

across t. 
An' she plowed along till she reached the house, 

an' nary a kid was lost. 
I^ot a single one was even nipped, tho' how 

they escaped God knows, 
But ]N"ellie, poor girl, she caught it hard ; both 

of her legs were froze. 

Well, it run along a couple of days afore a doc- 
tor come, 

An' he saw in a minute tliere wan't much hope, 
an' things looked mighty glum; 

But he took the only chance there was, and 
that wan't very bright — 

He ampitated both her feet— an' JS'ellie come 
out all right. 



We clone the best we could for her, an' we done 

it quick, you bet — 
We got her a pair of wooden feet, but she hasn't 

tried 'em yet. 
But if ever for such an act of grit a just reward 

is given, 
Yer bet yer life there's a better pair awaitin' 

her in heaven. 



T 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

HE north wind wafts a greeting 
"God's will on earth was done," 
And the echo sings on the south wind's 

wings 
"The Blue and the Gray are one." 

One flag m}^ southern brother — 

One flag for you and me— 
Beyond compare— and everywhere 

The emblem of the free. 

The dear old flag we honor 

That our forefathers knew— 
The star of light — the friend of right — 

The red, the white, the blue. 

So let the old, old story 

Lie buried in the past. 
For the ties that bind a nations kind 

Are strong and true and fast. 

Then bring the brightest garlands 

And deck the graves of all — 
For the Blue and the Gray are one for aye, 

What ever may befall. 



THE OLD ST. JO. 

OH, the old St. Jo— 
Oh, the dancing, glancing waters— how 
they ripple as they flow. 
Softly singing liquid symphonies far sweeter to 

my ear 
Than the melody of Mozart or the songs of 

Meyerbeer. 
How the summer sunlight shimmers on its 

bright reflecting breast, 
As it rolls along forever in a spirit of unrest. 

Oh, the old St. Jo— 

Oh, the wealth of blooming bushes and of wil- 
lows bending low, 

And the pretty, perfect paradise, the island set 
in green. 

With its verdant shadows waving in the water's 
silver sheen ; 

And the graceful swallows twittering and sail- 
ing light and free. 

Dipping down to kiss the wavelets as they dance 
away in glee. 

Oh the old St. Jo— 
Oh, the shady swimming bayou where the boys 

were wont to go— 
Oh, the happiness of childhood, oh, the joy we 

held most dear. 
The pleasure of disporting in the waters bright 

and clear. 



Forgetfulness may claim all else, but time can 
never dim 

The memory of a boy's delight— a good old- 
fashioned swim. 

Oh, the old St. Jo— 

When Luna's beaming beauty sheds a soft re- 
fulgent glow; 

Oh, the music of the waters as they improvise 
a trill 

In a running obligato to the plaintive whippoor- 
will ; 

And the gentle zephyrs humming through the 
waving willow trees — 

How they fill the soul with echoes of a hundred 
harmonies. 

Oh, the old St. Jo- 
Like the future generations that are yet to 

come and go, 
Forever and forever shall its waters flow away 
In a never-failing current as they flow along 

today. 
And lovers of old nature's brightest work shall 

learn to know 
The many matchless beauties of the old St. Jo. 



O HAPPY YOUTH, 

HAPPY^ youth, when hearts are beating 
With rapturous joy and love divine, 
Wlien days are short and nights are fleeting 
And warm affections intertwine ; 
When hope looks forward to the morrow 
And stars of promise brightly beam — 
O joj^ous time, when care and sorrow 
Evanish like a passing dream. 

O sweetest j^outh, when life is teeming 

With happiness and joy complete. 
When faith is strong and hope is beaming. 

And lovers youthful lovers greet ; 
O joyous time of health and pleasure 

When rays of hope are shining bright — 
Sweet memory's diadems to treasure — 

O halcyon days of keen delight. 



3S — 



EASTER. 

JJJ AVE courage, men, 
il Tho' Christ is dead, 

For the Lord has said 
Me shall rise again. 

' Tis Easter time 

And the music tells 

In the happy chime 

Of a thousand bells, 

That Christ the Lord again has risen. 



LIFE IS BUT A ROUND OF PLEASURE. 

T® IFE is but a round of pleasure, 
JL/ Each can have a well filled measure 
If he only wills that way ; 
Then let's drive away grim sorrow. 
And let others trouble borrow 
Worry not about tomorrow, 
But well think about today. 

Chorus. 
Drink, Drink, Drink and well be merry, 

Clink, Clink, Clink the time away, 
Drink, Drink, Drink the sparkling- sherry, 

Think not of the morrow but about today. 

Happiness is ours to store it 

If we only labor for it 
With an honest, true intent ; 

Then we'll start the blues a flying- 
Substituting- mirth for crying, 

Every hour and minute trying? 
Witli our lot to be content. 



35 



AT BLENHEIM CASTLE. 

HO ! all Americans arise and sliout witli 
unanimity- 
Dispatches tell us something that ap- 
proaches grand sublimity ; 
The noble Prince of Wales, the perfect paragon 

of purity, 
Has raised our Consuelo from a level of obscur- 
ity. 

Tho' Consuelo's fame is now assured of perpe- 
tuity, 

The noble duke can tremble, for his Vanderbilt 
annuity, 

Though measured only by a most magnificent 
immensity, 

May not withstand the noble prince's borrow- 
ing propensity. 



A DREAM OF LIFE. 

IDEEAMED that from another sphere, 
With clear discerning eye, 
I saw the flow of life below 
That mOA^ed unceasing by, 
Like some vast river sweeping out 

Into a boundless sea 
It hurried through the world into 
Unknown eternity. 

I saw the blush of innocence 

Upon a happy face, 
Where reeking sin had never been, 

And sorrow left no trace. 

I happy hours ! O ! golden youth ! 

What pangs thy memory cost, 
When deep in tears of after years 
We value what is lost. 

1 saw Temptation's gilded form 

Along the path of youth, 
Guerilla-like, unceasing strike 

Integrity and truth ; 
Ambition seemed to waver when 

Discretion fell a prey 
To Passion's guiles and luring smiles 

That sweep success away. 

-37 — 



I saw a gambler luring on 

The victim of his art, 
While there would rise before his eyes 

A brother's bleeding heart ; 
I saw the novice, answering 

The baser passion's call, 
In eagerness of sure success. 

Advance— and lose his all. 

I saw a thousand brothers stand 

Upon a thousand rocks, 
And none agreed the others creed 

Was strictly orthodox ; 
A Mussulman in rage decried 

The Christian's inspired work, 
While he in turn would madly spurn 

The Koran of the Turk. 

A drunken wretch reformed and cried 

That he was pure and free, 
And there was none — not even one 

Was more revered than he : 
I saw an erring sister fall 

Upon her knees and pray. 
But worldly hate had sealed her fate 

Forever and for aye. 

A shij) lay rolling helpless on 

The bosom of the deep : 
I saw the swell that rose and fell 

And heard the wild winds sweep : 

— 38- 



I saw that ship go down with full 

A thousand souls therein, 
And soon the sea appeared to me 

As if it had not been. 

I heard the church bells ringing- out 

A welcome to a birth, 
And sharp and plain they rang again 

To swell the wedding mirth : 
I lieard them toll and seeming say : 

"Ceased be his weary plod, 
•^\ brother wight lias said good night. 

"And gone to meet liis God." 

1 saw the countless millions who 

Were battling with the tide. 
While grim and gaunt the spectre, Want 

Was ever at their side ; 
I saw a millionaire unmoved 

Deny the starving band, 
Wliile wealth untold of lioarded gold 

Invited his command. 



I saw cupidity and greed 

In every phase of life. 
Precipitate unyielding hate 

And never-ending strife ; 
I heard the voice of Justice speak 

In ringing tones, and true : 
" God's boundless store was given for 

"The many — not the few." 

- 39 - 



I hailed a message as it fell 

From azure tinted skies, 
And soon I saw a heavenly law 

Dissensions harmonize ; 
Each mortal owned his fellow-man 

A brother and a peer, 
And each one tried to swell the tide 

Of happiness and cheer. 

The world with purest deeds and thoughts 

Irradiant did gleam. 
And here and there, and everywhere 

Concentment reigned supreme ; 
Existence seemed in every form 

Erom pain and sorrow free- 
When morning broke and I awoke 

To life's reality. 



AFTER WINTER COMES THE SPRING. 

WINTEES whistling winds are here ; 
Summers sweetest scenes are fled ; 
Autumns fallen leaves are sere ; 
Forest iiowers all are dead. 
Still content— aye, something more, 

Thoughts of buds and blossoms bring- 
Thoughts replete with pleasure, for 
After winter comes the spring. 

In the trials of your life ; 

When despair holds potent sway ; 
When 3'our burdens in the strife 

Hide ambition's faintest ray ; 
Let not honest courage wane, 

But to hope triumphant cling, 
For, like sunshine after rain, 

After winter comes the spring. 



IT MIGHT BE WORSE, 

I HATE the weepiu' pessimist t)iat"s alius 
talkin' blue 
An' paintin' up his troubles with a cemetery 
hue ; 
He never sees a rainbow, but he alius sees a 

cloud, 
An' tries to throw it over everybody like a 

shroud ; 
He pounds away at all he meets an' tries to 

make "em think 
That his has been the bitterest of bitter dregs 

to drink ; 
He tells 3^ou that his trouble is an overpowrin' 

curse. 
An' never stops to reason that it 

MiRht 
Be 

Worse. 

I like a noble fellow who can play a cheerful 

part, 
No matter if a hidden sob is wellin' up his 

heart, 

—42- 



He makes you think a little grit will kinder 

ease yer woe, 
An' mebbe when tomorrow comes you"ll stan' a 

better show ; 
He'll alius take you by the hand an" soften down 

yer fears, 
An' make yer see a ray o' hope a-shinin' through 

yer tears ; 
That's the kind o' fellow that can meet with a 

reverse^ — 
He can brace himself and say it 

Might 
Be 

Worse. 

Yer burden may be heavy, but you'll somehow 

ilnd it true 
That ther' are others carry in' a bigger load 

than you ; 
The world is blue enough, God knows, without 

yer gettin' down 
An' cryin' over trouble long afore it comes 

aroun' ; 
A faintin' heart was never known to bring a 

brighter day, 
An' weepin' an complainin' never drives the 

clouds away— 
So dont you advertise yer woe throughout the 

universe. 
But keep it to yourself an' say it 

Might 
Be 
Worse. 

— 48 — 



If everybody's misery was written on his face, 

There'd be but little pleasure here among the 
human race ; 

The glow o' cheerful happiness "ud fade away 
and die, 

An' all the springs o' joy an' mirth 'ud soon be 
runnin' dry. 

So don't you grow discouraged, then, if every- 
thing goes wrong. 

For if you wait a streak o' joy'll surely come 
along; 

Don't keep a-mopin' all the time as mournful 
as a hearse. 

But gulp yer trouble down an' say it 

Might 
Be 
Worse. 



SINCE NELLIE WENT AWAY. 

THE homestead ain't ez bright an' cheerful 
ez it used to be, 

The leaves ain't growin' half so green upon 

the maple tree ; 
The brook don't seem ter ripple like it used ter, 

down the hill— 
The bobolinks appear ter hev a some'at sadder 

trill; 
The wavin' corn hez lost its gold, the sunshine 

ain't so bright, 
The day is growin' shorter jest ter make a 

longer night ; 
There's some thin' gnawin' at my heart I guess 

hez come ter stay — 
The world ain't been the same ter me since 

Nellie went away. 



The old piano over there I gave her when a 

bride- 
It ain't been played upon but once since she 

took sick an' died, 
An' then a neighbor's girl come in an' struck 

up "Old Black Joe" 
An' " When the Swallows Homeward Fly," an' 

somehow, don't you know. 



It almos' made me crazy wild with angiiisli an' 

dispair— 
I saw ber sittin' at the keys, but knew she 

wasn't there ; 
An' that is why I never want ter hear the old 

thing play— 
The music don't sound natural since Nellie 

went awav. 



The parson tells me every man hez got ter hev 

his woe — 
His argument is good, perhaps, for he had orter 

know — 
But then it's hard for every one ter allers see 

the right 
In turnin' pleasure into pain an' sunshine into 

night ; 
1 guess it's all included in the Maker's hidden 

plan- 
It takes a heap o' grief an' woe ter temper up 

a man. 
1 sympathize with any fellow when I hear him 

say 
The world don't seem the same ter him since 



some one went away. 



The Scripture says that in His own sweet way, 

If we but wait. 
The Lord '11 take our burdens an' set crooked 

matters straight ; 



An' there's a hope that all the grief an aching 

heart can hold 
Will be offset by happiness a hundred million 

fold, 
When we hev reached the end o- life's eventful 

voyage at last 
An' all our pain an' misery is buried in the 

past. 
An' so I'm lookin' for'ard to the dawn in' of a 

day 
When mebbe it won't seem so long- since Nellie 

went away. 



YOU CANT PLEASE EVERY ONE. 



5*|N] 



To do the best you can- 
Perfection never fell within 
The heritage of man. 
Upon integrity rely 

In labors once begun, 
The hypercritical clef y— 

You can't please every one. 

Invidious is the task of him 

In public life installed ; 
His trivial faults are magnified, 

His buried deeds recalled ; 
Though honest efforts end his course, 

In honesty begun. 
He clearly realizes that 

He didn't please CA'ery one. 

Then labor conscientiously 

To do your very best. 
And, that you try to fill your sphere, 

Let honest deeds attest- 
So that when in declining years, 

You view your labors done, 
Eeproach can not be yours because 

Y^ou didn't please every one. 



48 



A FRENCH IDYL. 

GOOD day, Mrs. Murphy; Oi jist saw ould 
Flynn, 
And he towled me yez had an addition loist 
night ; 
So Oi sez to mesir : " Mrs. Whalan, step in 
An see phat a darlint hez brought 'em de- 
hght." 

Arrah, now, can Oi howld liim— the illegant 
boy! 
Faix, he's jest loike his fatlier, the Httle 
spalpeen ! 
But, Oi say, Mrs. Murphy, exuberant joy 
Has given me thirst for a dhrop av poteen. 

Phat! not going to treat? Yez kin niver do 
that! 
Not a dhrop av poteen, because wages is 
shmall ? 
Here, take your cadaverous, bull-headed brat- 
Sure, he don't look a bit loike his father at 
all! 



-49 — 



SMOKY RUN. 

IT was raining hard when the stranger came 
Through the tavern door at Smoky Eun; 
He acted sick, an' we kind'er thought 
That mebbe his strength was overdone. 

We tried to draw him into a talk, 

But it wan't no use— he bowed his head 

In his trembling hands, an' only cried, 
"She'd be better dead— oh better dead." 

For over a week he hung around 

In a sort of a melancholy way, 
Watchin' the stages come an' go. 

But never havin' a word to say. 

Well, Sunday noon of the second week. 

Since he come to stay at vSmoky Kun, 
We miners set on the tavern porch 

Try in' to hide from the blazin' sun- 
When a man and a woman come along 

On a couple of bronchos side by side— 
They stopped at the door an' asked the road. 

Then traveled away toward Eocky Slide. 

It wan't two minutes hed passed us by 

When the stranger come with a jump an' 
bound 

Thro' the tavern door and started off 

Eight after the pair like a Eussian hound. 



Well, that was enough— we miners knew 

That something was wrong an' trouble was 
near, 

So we got in line an' hustled away 

Down the mountain road like a lot of deer. 

We'd gone a mile— to the bend in the pass, 
Where the roadway curves at Deep Eavine, 

When just as we turned there come to view 
The toughest thing I have ever seen— 

The woman lay at the stranger's feet 

An' her mate lay stretched beside her dead 

With an empty revolver near his head — 
'• Killed himself," so the stranger said. 

'- There ain't much room for doubt," we cried, 
"But tell us the reason he took his life ? " 

The stranger lifted the woman up 

An' moaned, " God pity my faithless wife." 

He pressed her to him an' stroked her face 
An' cried : "Oh, God, she'd be better dead." 

" Stranger, who is this man ? " we asked, 
"My youngest brother," was all he said. 

Well that was enough, we miners knew 
That we hadn't no voice in a family row. 

So we left them alone in the mountain pass 
To settle their trouble— God knows how. 



THE WAKARUSA BAND. 

YOU talk about your Brooks's Band, and 
Boyer at his best— 
An' Thomas's big orchestry, an' Sousa an' the 
rest— 
Their hifalutin' music, I suppose, is good 

enough 
For city folks who educate on operatic stuff ; 
But when you w^ant to reach the heart and 

make it laugh an' sob. 
An' be in touch with nature like, and make it 

thrill an' throb 
With melody an' music that a child can under- 
stand. 
You ought to hear a concert by the Wakarusa 
Band. 

They ain't up on concertos an' cantatas an' the 

like- 
But you can't beat 'emgrindin' out a quickstep 

on the pike ; 
An' when they play "Old Nellie Gray" an' 

" Where the Daisies Grow," 
My memory goes slidin' back to the long, long 

ago; 
An' music that'll work like that an' strike 

your very soul, 
An' flood you full of memories an' all your past 

unroll- 
That kind of music play in' fills its highest 

mission and 
That's why I like to listen to the W^akarusa 

Band. 



I saw the great directors in Chicago at the 

Fair, 
With all their fine musicianers annihilatin' 

air: 
A drum 'd bang, a horn 'd blat, a clarinet 'd 

shriek— 
An' ef you call that music, say, you ought to 

hear me speak ; 
I want the kind of music that'l melt into the 

heart— 
I wouldn't give a picayune for all their classic 

art ; 
Let educated critics gulp it down an' call it 

grand-— 
But I'll just sit an' listen to tlie Wakarusa 

Band. 



53- 



TOAST TO THE LADIES, 
Vv'HO has not experienced the thrill of 
joy divine 

That permeates tlie soul like some intox- 
icating wine, 
Tliat deep exquisite flood of bliss that tills the 

throbbing heart 
That only some true honest love of woman can 

impart; 
That fount of hope and joy and life, that some- 
thing undefined 
That makes tlie timid strong and brave, the 

stern and cruel kind; 
That seems to draw forever inspiration from 

above, 
That boon of rich and poor alike, that priceless 
treasure, love ? 

Your mind's eye ne'er could picture, nor Ra- 
phael e"er portray 

A scene where pure devotion exercised com- 
pleter sway, 

Where messengers of peace and love in appro- 
bation smiled, 

Tlian that of some fond mother at the cradle 
of her child ; 

The weary nights of vigil, tlie trials of the day 

Are but a task of happiness, they seem to fade 
away 

Before tlie gentle influence of that fond 
mother's love 

Like threatening clouds dissolve before the 
fierce heat from above. 



Go with me to the battle tielcl where death is 

in control 
And mark the dying of the day with some poor 

weary soul, 
A ministering angel softly, gently passes by, 
There's courage in her bearing, there's pity in 

her eye. 
She has no thirst for glory, no vain desire for 

pelf, 
She sacrifices all she has, her home, her health , 

herself. 
Her very life she offers up like Him who led the 

way- 
God bless the Red Cross Angels forever and for 

aye. 



Sing not to me of valiant deeds of some brave 
knights of old, 

I sing to you of braver deeds a hundred thous- 
and fold; 

Of some sweet bonnie bright-eyed lass whose 
heavii inspired life 

Is consecraced to a toil of poverty and strife. 

Where poor humanity is weak with misery and 
sin, 

Where happiness and cheerfulness and hope 
have never been; 

Mock not the young Salvationist, for even unto 
death 

She follows in the footsteps of Him of Nazereth. 



Perchance some Florence Nightingale within 

this banquet hall 
Is waiting with a willing heart for duty's trum- 
pet call; 
God bless her, aye, a thousand times if any such 

there be, 
Her life will sooth the troubled waves upon the 

human sea, 
Wliere avarice unceasingly replenishes its store 
And princes blind cupidity throws nations into 

war; 
God bless her if her influence will bring a sweet 

surcease 
Of liuman slaugiiter and insure an everlasting 

peace. 

But this peculiar strain my friends, my lady 

friends, I know 
To place and audience is not exactly apropos; 
I toast your health, fair ladies, and may many 

banquets see 
Your gracious presence with us in the years 

that are to be, 
^lay all your friendships tried and true be 

bound by stronger ties. 
May all the future be to you as clear as summer 

skies; 
May fondest recollection shed its beaming 

soothing light 
When memory recalls to j^ou the banquet of 

tonight. 



'*WHIRRUL IT." 

11^ sixty-three, when drafting was in vogue, 
And men of tliirty (?) ceased to dye their 
hair, 
When many an honest man (and many a rogue) 
A military suit was forced to wear. 

Tom Flynn, with thumping heart and pallid 
face, 
Stood with the crowd upon the court-house 
floor, 
Crossing himself, and asking Heavenly grace 
To save him from the horrors of a war. 

Fresh from the drafting wheel each chosen 
name 

Was loudly shouted thro' the spacious hall; 
Another forced to light sedition's flame I 

Another doomed to face the rebel ball ! 

Anxious the while, poor Flj^nn with listening 
ear 

(And something different to a warrior's mien) 
Heard the clerk read in thunder tones and clear 

The old familiar name of "Mike Dineen." 

Swiftly toward the wheel he wildly ran, 

Thinking his name the next would surely be, 
And yelled: "O, whirrul itiwhirrul it! whirrul 

it man I 
Ochonel That fellow lives nixt door to me!" 



OUR BOYS IN BLUE. 

HEEE'S to the honest soldier lads, 
Here's to the hearts so true ; 
Here's to the country's proudest hope. 
Here's to the boys in blue, 
Onward ever their battle cry, 

Never a one to lag ; 
Ever ready to do and die 
Under their nation's flag. 

Heres to the honest soldier lads, 

Hearts as true as steel ; 
Human battlements brave and ttrm 

Guarding their country's we-dl ; 
Sweeping liberty's foes aside, 

Planting a standard new. 
Freedom's champions every one. 

Here's to the boys in blue. 

God be with our soldier lads 

Till peace floods forth her light, 
And nerve their souls with courage true 

In the cause of human right. 
Give cheer to a mother's anxious heart, 

And cheer to a sweetheart's too ; 
God grant them all a safe return, 

Our loyal boys in blue. 



58 



LULLABY, 

FEACE be unto thee— hush my child- 
Heaven's httle one undefilecl ; 
Nestle close to your mother's breast, 
Sail away to the land of rest : 
Sweetest blessing from paradise- 
Rest my little one ; close your eyes ; 
Angels ever their vigils keep- 
Sleep, my precious, my baby, sleep. 
Sleep, baby, sleep ; 
Mother dear will hold thee ; 
' Sleep, baby, sleep ; 

Mother's arms enfold thee. 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my precious 
one — 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Peace be unto thee, gift divine ; 
Sweet and innocent baby mine. 
Never a royal diadem 
Held so pure a priceless gem. 
All the world is as naught to me — 
Mother's baby— compared to thee. 
Sweetest blessing from paradise — 
Rest, my little one ; close your eyes. 



59 • 



SANTIAGO. 

FULL fierce and fast the battle raged— the 
very jaws of hell 
Were opened wide and pouring out a storm 
of shot and shell ; 
The scorching tropic sun beat down its streams 

of molten fire 
Until it seemed that fate had made a giant 

funeral pyre. 
But onward, onward, inch by inch they moA^'d 

with courage true 
Like some vast living wall of might— the loj^al 

boys in blue. 
No murmuring, no faltering, and when the day 

w^as done- 
Hurrah ! hurrah!— a thousand times— the vic- 
tory was won. 

For freedom and humanity, equality and right 

We'll ne'er forget the heroes bold who battled 
in that fight ; 

For all that independence loves— for all we hold 
most dear 

Forever and forever shall the world their names 
revere ; 

On monuments enduring fast, as with a burn- 
ing pen 

Let history recount their sacrifice for fellow 
men; 

And let a grateful nation drop a tear in mem- 
ory's urn 

For all those loj^al boys in blue who never will 
return. 

— eo — 



THE PRIVATES AND THE CREW. 

GIVE honor to the gallant Schley to whom 
all honors are, 
And sing the praises of heroic Hobson near and 

far : 
Shout loud huzzas of gratitude for Dewey brave 

and true- 
But don't forget our heroes bold— the privates 
and the crew. 



For them no hope of station high where grate- 
ful plaudits sound— 

For them no honored place on I'ame's eternal 
camping ground ; 

A plain and simple duty theirs— defying shot 
and shell — 

Theirs but the thought of having done that 
simple duty well. 



The private, sailor and marine, when all is said 

and done — 
The engineer and fireman— are heroes every 

one; 
For them no hope of lasting names on an in> 

mortal roll — 
Their only inspiration an undying valor's soul. 



Let honest merit meet reward in high or low 

estate ; 
Let Justice ever point the way where praise 

and g^lory wait- 
So while we give a thousand cheers for all the 

leaders true, 
We'll not forget our heroes bold— the privates 

and the crew. 



FROG QUARTET. 

THE CROAKER. 

BULL frog croaked in a lonely marsh 

On a dark and dismal night. 
He had a cold and his voice was harsh, 
But he croaked with all his might. 
And he woke the birds and he woke the bees 

Slumbering quietly in the trees ; 
And the things that fly and the things that 
creep 
Prayed in vain for a wink of sleep, 
But the frog, he kept on croaking. 

CHORUS. 

Jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum. 

On the midnight ozone rang; 
Jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum. 

Was the song that bull frog sang. 

Is^ow a lovely pelican flying along 

On that dark and dismal night, 
Pricked up his ears when he heard that song, 

And he hurried him in his flight ; 
Then he halted him quick with a sudden jerk 

Where the croaker was doing his solo work. 
And he settled himself on the end of a log, 

And he didn't do a thing to that foolish f rog— 
For the frog did no more croaking. 



There's a moral I think that all can see 

In the story I've brought out. 
And all the facts I swear to be 

Above the slightest doubt. 
The fellow who croaks with a long drawn face 

In the battle of life is out of place. 
If a pelican happens to come his way, 

He'll soon discover it doesn't pay 
To be forever croaking. 



64-- 



THE CLOCK. 

I HEARD the old clock ticking near my open 
chamber door 

In a soft and mellow voice-like tone I never 
heard before; 

In rythm sweet indelibly it marked upon my 
mind 

A truth that old eternity can never leave be- 
hind — 

This truth, as old as Father Time, that for a 
thousand years 

Has fallen on a myriad of dull, unheeding ears: 

"Whether it be of sunshine, or whether it be of 
rain, 

"The hour that is passing by will never come 
again." 

And a hurried rush of vain regrets came o'er me 
thick and fast 

As the old clock resurected the dead and bur- 
ied past, 

For in the panorama that my flitting fancy 
made 

Procrastination, like a fiend, was vividly por- 
trayed; 

And springing from my restless couch I cried: 
"O Time, delay?" 

But the old clock seemed to answer: "Tomor- 
row is today— 

"Whether it be of happiness or whether it be 
of pain, 

"The hour that is passing by will never come 
again." 

-65— 



But ambition swelled within me as the future 

'rose to view 
Yfith munificent reward for perseverance strong 

and true; 
And with grim determination I resolved that 

every day 
Should record a labor well performed— and the 

old clock seemed to say: 
"Dwell with the resolution, and hold it strong 

and fast, 
"Till the life that is gliding from you lies buried 

in the past; 
"For whether it mark a credit, or whether it 

brand a stain, 
"The hour that is passing by will never come 

again." 



-88- 



THE TYPICAL TRAMP. 

I'M a typical tramp, the people say 
In an off-hand sort of a careless way ; 
An' I guess they're right— but say, dy'e know 
That I've got a heart if it doesn't show? 
I ain't been like this all my life 
On the under side of care and strife ; 
I used to have ambition, and 
A good supply of grit and sand. 
But fate's peculiar— some '11 run 
Along the light of the golden sun, 
And others, no matter how true and proud 
Are alwaj^s somehow under a cloud. 
Well, I'm not going to wear you out 
With a long drawn history about 
Myself, but say, perhaps you'll wait 
Till 5'ou hear the typical tramp relate 
A few of the things that put him where 
He is today. She was young and fair— 
My wife, I mean, and God knows I'd 
Ha' sacrificed myself and died 
For her and the little baby, he 
Bright and chipper as he could be. 
Well I, when all is said and done 
Was about the same as the common run ; 
And she, my wife I mean, why she 
Seemed to swear by the kid and me. 
Week in and out I worked away 
And I never lost a single day 
In three long years, and tried to do 
My honest duty through and through; 
And I was the happiest man on earth— 

— 67 — 



Life was flowing with joy and mirth ; 
My hope was there without alloy 
In my loving wife and my baby boy. 
But things was going too smooth, I guess- 
Too much pleasure and happiness; 
Too much home-like harmony 
For an ordinary man like me. 
Things had to change, as they sometimes will- 
I quit my work at the rolling mill 
One summer night, and drew my pay- 
Seems like it was yesterday— 
And I went to the store and bought a dress— 
A sort of a gingham one, I guess— 
I don't remember— I never could— 
I knew she^d think it was just as good 
As a silk or satin. And then I went 
Straight to my cottage home hell bent. 
Going to surprise my wife, you know — 
And I wanted to hear the baby crow ; 
And I wanted, O well, I wanted to be 
In the only place in the world for me. 
Well it wasn't long till I struck the door 
Of my cottage home— there's not much more 
To tell about— she wasn't there— 
And the baby was gone— on a kitchen chair 
I found this paper, and God ! if you 
Have never had a knife run through 
Your very heart you can never know 
The force of the pain and grief and blow : 
" Dear Tom," she wrote, "I've gone away 
" To never come back— don't lose a day 
" Trying to find me— I always knew 

— 68—, 



"I never was good enougli for you." 
Well that was all— I discovered soon 
That early along in the afternoon 
A fellow I counted my warmest friend 
Had brought my hopes to a bitter end ; 
Like a poisonous snake in a sneaky way 
He had stolen my baby and wife away. 
****** 

Four years I've drunk from sorrow's cup 
With one ambition to hold me up— 
A hope that sometime, in some place, 
I'll meet that fellow face to face. 
And it won't take very long, you bet 
For me to partly pay the debt 
I owe him. Now I guess I've done— 
My strain's too blue for the average run, 
And the world ain't got no use today 
For a tramp's emotions anyway. 



— 69— i 

't 



AS WE ARE. 

OUR social status now we view with some- 
thing like tranquility, 
For finally we have attained alliance with 
nobility; 
The old world's crumbling castles and dilapi- 
dated terraces 
Are being put in shape again by our ambitious 

heiresses; 
They marry condescending dukes whose pedi- 
grees will antidate 
The time of antiquated Noah who piloted the 

ship of state— 
And pedigree is all they've got— but surely you 

will all agree 
That this is just exactly right in all high toned 
society. 

There's many a social gathering we call a mis- 
sionary tea 

That ever has productive been of true un- 
bounded harmony — 

Where tender hearted ladies meet to sup their 
fragrant Oolong, and 

Discuss the unbelievers in some distant, wooly 
foreign land. 

They gather contributions and they ship out 
every cent they can 

To China's suffering heathen and the great un- 
washed of Hindoostan— 

Which eminently proper is— I never entertain 
a doubt 

For we have no domestic needy hottentots to 
think about. 

-70 — 



Who'er says politicians are dishonest gabbles 

gammon, he 
Has never read the history of our beloved Tam- 
many, 
For its officials who attain a most surprising 

altitude 
To loyalty and honesty are firmly and forever 

glued. 
And in the old United States, e'er since the 

government began 
There's no exception to the rule— the office 

always seeks the man; 
And that is why election day when we select a 

president 
You never see the slightest sign of any money 

being spent. 

Society is managed in a marvelously perfect 

way, 
And fashion's devotees admit that everything 

is recherche— 
In fact the swim of higher life could never, 

never, never yield 
More satisfactory results if chaperoned by 

Chesterfield. 
You never heard Miss So and So relate in edify- 
ing glee 
That Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Brown's no better 

than she ought to be— 
In fact you hear no gossiping at any of our 

tete-a-tetes— 
It strictly is prohibited throughout the whole 

United States. 

— 71- 



I might sing on forever in my quiefc unassum- 
ing way 
About the old United States where justice 

holds a potent sway: 
Where alltruistic doctors in a field of usefulness 

abound 
Who make mistakes— but when they do— they 

promptly put them under ground; 
Where lawyer's honest faces beam with floods 

of concientious light 
And wreathes of beatific smiles— at their in- 
herent sense of right- 
But modesty forbids — besides, to what advan- 
tage could I sing- 
When everybody knows that we are perfect 
quite in everything ? 



•72- 



DEWEY'S COMIN' HOME. 

FEOM Maine to California throughout our 
mighty land 

There's somethin' agitatin' us a child 
could understand — 
A patriotic sentiment as strong an' warm an' 

true 
As ever cheered the heart of man an' thrilled it 

through and through. 
1^0 partisan or race or creed, or low or upper 

crust 
Can gather in this feelin' an' control it with a 

trust; 
An' pretty soon, from mine pit up to heaven's 

distant dome, 
That pent-up feelin' will explode— for Dewey's 
comin' home. 

There's never been an Admiral who had a bet- 
ter way 

Of takin' up an argument an' settlin' it to stay; 

For when his side has had its say — his broad- 
side in a word— 

The opposition argument is very seldom heard. 

You never hear him quibble, an' he never hesi- 
tates. 

When he is makin' history for the United 
States. 

Oh, talk of cheerin' Ceaser once upon a time in 
Rome! 

Yf e'll knock that cheerin' galley west— for Dew- 
ey's comin' home. 

— 73- 



He's modest as they make 'em, an' there's no 

one charges that \ 

Since he has won his victory he wears a 

bigger hat. 
He's had all kinds of trials, an' there's no one 

ever said 
That he was ever rattled or he ever lost his 

head. 
No wonder that his countrymen will swear that 

he's about 
As perfect an American as ever was ground out. 
So, speed away Olympia, an' churn the briny 

foam, 
An' everybody whoop 'er up— for Dewey's 

comin' home. 



IT'S BETTER TO BELIEVE. 

THER' may be logic, truth an' sense an' ar- 
gument an' wit 

In everything the infidels hev written on, 
but it 
Hez allers seemed uncommon queer an' strange 

ter me that they 
Don't ever give a substitute for what they take 
away. 

They take away the only balm thet fer a thou- 
san' years 

Hez cheered a mother's faintin' heart an' dried 
a widow's tears: 

They shet out God's own sunshine thet pene- 
trates the gloom 

Thet like a pall hangs over all within a mourn- 
er's room. 

They kill the hope thet came to birth when 

hearts were light an' free. 
An' children learned to lisp ther' prayers at 

ther' mother's knee, 
When all the future seemed as bright as any 

noonday sky. 
An' youth, in certainty of heaven, was not 

afraid to die. 



-75- 



I hev a hope that something- on the other side 
of life 

Will recompense a fellow for the pain an' care 
an' strife 

That this vv^orld starts on double quick to fol- 
low him an' his. — 

If there's not something in thet hope it's good 
to think there is. 

An' when you fold a pair of hands upon a life- 
less breast, 

An' kiss thet sweet cold face again before its 
laid to rest, 

It somehow helps a fellow face the flow of sor- 
row's tide 

To think he'll meet his dear ones there upon 
the other side. 

Ther's some'll joke about the church an' laugh, 

an' jibe an' jeer, 
An' jump upon the minister an' say he ain't 

sincere— 
But they're the hypocrites themselves fer I hev 

allers found 
When troubles strike they somehow like to hev 

him come around. 

Ther's hypocrites in churches too— its hard to 

keep 'em out— 
They'll steal ther' neighbors blind an' then 

get up an' pray an' shout, 
An' weep an' howl when Sunday comes— but be 

it understood 
They wouldn't try and counterfeit a thing thet 

wasn't good. 

—76 — 



Supposin' Ingersol is right an' all lie says is 

true, 
An' tiler's nothing in the picture tliet the old 

disciples drew, 
An' ther's nothin' in communion that'll banish 

grief an' care. 
An' ther's nothin' in the churches an' ther's 

nothin' in the prayer '? — 

■ Ain't it better to believe that those you hold 
most dear an' fond 

Will be with you forever in a better place be- 
yond? 

Ain't it better to send up a prayer with a dying 
breath? 

Ain't it better to liev something that removes 
the sting of death? 

The Faith may be all a pretty dream as Inger- 

soll has said- 
It may be hope is gone forever when a fellow's 

dead- 
It may be as he oft declares a most stupendous 

fake- 
But I'll continue dreaming on— an' he can stay 

awake. 



-77- 



B. P. O. E 

ACROSTIC. 

Born of true parentage — fraternal love — 
Cver deep mindful of a brother's weal ; 
fNursing no wrongs, but far and far above— 
endorsing charity with earnest zeal. 
Vanity here strikes no responsive theme— 
Our order calls for manhood true and strong, 
L#ove of our fellow mortals reigns supreme, 
Enduring ever like a joyous song. 
No selfishness obtains within our plan, 
True friendship ever is exemplified, 

A blessed, lasting brotherhood of man — 
Never recording charity denied; 
Delighting in benevolence unseen. 

Providing where the world shall know it not, 
Rejoicing with a satisfaction keen 
Over an aided brother's bettered lot; 
True to its chosen sons forever, and 
Earnestly striving for them to obtain 
Continuing relief throughout our land 
That humankind may reach a higher plane; 
In true fraternal spirit giving deep 
Vitality to sad misfortune's own; 
encouraging where grief and sorrov/ weep 

— 73 — 



O'er sweet ambitious liope and pleasure flown. 
Replete with principles of high ideal, 
Designed to live forever and a day— 
Embracing questions of our common weal- 
Results attained to never pass away. 

Our order cherish — do the best you can — 
For all its teachings lead you to the right ; 

Bncourage love— and for your fellow man 
L*et true fraternal spirit be your light; 
Keep faithfully its lessons — you shall see 
SurpPvSsing grandeur of B. P. O. E. 



•79- 



MY LITTLE BABY BOY, 

THEEE'S music in the babbling brook that 
hurries down the hill! 
There's music in the robin's song and in 
the linnet's trill; 
There's harmony in everything, but nothing 

has the half 
Of melody that ripples through my little baby's 
laugh. 

His eyes are like the stars at night; his pretty 

dimpled chin 
And delicate, soft, chubby hands would grace a 

cherubin; 
When he is nestled in my arms the world is 

full of joy, 
All centered in that gift divine— my little baby 

boy. 

1^0 monarch ever owned a gem with mine to 

half compare; 
No wealth of gold could buy a king a jewel half 

so fair; 
Oh, he is all the world to me— content without 

alloy. 
And hope and love and happiness— my little 

baby boy. 



-80- 



OUR OWN JACK TAR. 

THE Englishman's a stayer, the Italian 
likes a scrap, 

And you'll never catch a German or a 
Frenchman in a nap. 
With due respect to all of them to whom all 

honors are 
I call your kind attention to our own Jack Tar. 

Chorus. 
He knows no fears 

When the bo'sn pipes 
But he gives three cheers 

For the Stars and Stripes 
And he stands by his guns with a courage grand 

For his honor, his flag and his native land. 

Our navy isn't very old— a hundred years or so— 
But records count for everything, and we have 

one to show; 
Since independence came to us no history can 

mar 
The patriotic bearing of our own Jack Tar. 

In all of the engagements we've been called 

upon to fight 
The enemy acknowleged that we entertained 

'em right; 
And ever since those little entertainments near 

and far 
They all take off their chapeaus to our own 

Jack Tar. 

-81— 



OLD GLORY. 

'ITH Old Glory waving o'er us 
We our joyous voices raise, 
And in patriotic chorus 
We will sing our country's praise. 
From the old Penobscot river 

To the far Pacific slope 
May the stars and stripes forever 
Fill our hearts with pride and hope. 

Chorus. 

Hip, Hip, hurrah for the flag of our nation, 
Hip, Hip, hurrah for the flag of the free, 

Wave it on high o'er the whole of creation- 
Bear it in triumph o'er mountain and sea. 

Dearest emblem that we cherish 

Harbinger of hope and light- 
Not a star shall ever perish 

While we have a hand to fight. 
No oppressor shall assail thee 

While a dear bought freedom reigns, 
Brave defenders ne'er shall fail thee 

While a spark of life remains. 



-82- 



THE OLD CANE POLE, 

OH, the old cane pole— how my heart beat 
high 
When I used to swing it in the days gone 

by 
Where the bending rushes and the long lake 

grass 
Furnished hiding places for the hungry bass! 
When a great big lunker that was tempting 

fate 
Telegraphed a message that he had the bait 
'Twas a sweet sensation that'd stir the soul— 
Spattin' in the rushes with an old cane pole. 

My whole anatomy with laughter thrills 

To see a rod and reel and the other frills 

The hifalutin' artist brings into play 

To snake out bass in a scientific way. 

He'll look around with a pitying smile 

At the fellow fishing in the good old style, 

But in every case I will bet my roll 

That he won't be in it with the old cane pole. 

Oh, the old cane pole— there's nothing so fine 

As to feel a bass tug on a good stout line. 

For if you've got your nerve and you work it 

right 
You are sure to land him in a good square fight; 
And when you're going home you won't have to 

guess 
Where your fish are coming from— you'll have 

a mess. 
So let the fancy fisherman cast and troll. 
But I will spat the rushes with an old cane pole. 



TALE OF THE TYRO. 

OH, they thump you and lambaste you, 
And they jump you and they paste you 
In an edifying fashion that'll make you 
pale and wan ; 
And you'll tumble in a minute 
That you're nicely, strictly in it 
When you learn the inner workings of the 
gentle Khorassan. 

Then you'll think that something bit you 

And you'll hnoio that something hit you 

Like an embryonic cyclone from the wild and 

wooly west : 
And with apprehension growing 
You'll imagine you are going 
Where the wicked cease from troubling and 

the weary are at rest. 

And they'll think perhaps you oughter 

Take a bath in Zem Zem water 

And they'll give you good and plenty for there's 
none to say you nay ; 

And you'll want your courage handy 

In the desert hot and sandy 

When the camel gets a hump on and you jour- 
ney on your way. 



Oh, the unrestricted pleasure j, 

And enjoyment without measure \ 

That awaits the poor deluded, unsophisticated ] 

man : 

Who in mental weak condition ? 

Has a lingering suspicion : 

He'd enjoy the metamorphosis that makes a j 

Khorassan. ] 

Oh, the Arabs, how they bless you . { 

And how gently they caress you 1 

With a kindness born of altruism's highest, | 

truest aim : '\ 

How they take you with them roaming, i 

In the morning, in the gloaming— . i 

And although you lack experience you get ; 

there just the same. i 

What a pleasure there is for you— ] 

What exquisite joy comes o'er you j 

When you realize the cherished shining pinna- ■ 

cle is gained ; , 
When your journey is completed 

Though you're somewhat overheated i 
Still you doubt not for a minute you've been 

nicely entertained 

When the razzle dazzle's ended I 
It is always comprehended | 
That your stock of Arab knowledge has amaz- ! 
ingly increased ; i 
Still your physical condition I 
Might create a dim suspicion ' 
That you have the same ambition as a gentle- 
man deceased. | 

-8^ I 



Take a twenty and you bet it 
That you never will forget it 
The initiation proper and the many funny 

cracks ; 
Your unbounded joy will fire you 
And experience inspire you 
With a firm belief you got it where the chicken 

got the ax. 

But I'll tell you on the level 

Notwithstanding all the revel 

Incidental to the doing of a victim good and 

brown, 
There is something that will reach you— 
'Tis a lesson that will teach you 
Of the charity that aids a man when lie is 

broken down. 

So with all the variegated 

Joy and pleasure I have stated 

You can put it down for certain since old his- 
tory began— 

There is none among the others 

Like our band of Arab brothers— 

And I toast the health and happiness! of ev'ry 
Khorassan. 



LEFEBRE. 

I CAN always sit and listen to the soft and 
mellow note 

That in rippling, bubbling music gushes 
from the linnet's throat ; 
And I love to hear the chatter of the purling 

crystal rill 
As in and out it winds about and hurries down 

the hill. 
And I love to hear a singer who with pathos 

warm and true 
Can awaken in your memory your childhood 

scenes anew ; 
And in honesty of spirit an acknowledgement I 

own 
An enthusiastic liking for Lefebre's saxophone. 

And I will give all honor, too, wherever it is 

due, 
And so, my dear Lefebre, I now give the same 

to you ; 
To praise with fulsome flattery I surely don't 

intend. 
But every one who knows you, you can sched- 
ule as a friend ; 
There's a hundred thousand heard you, and a 

hundred thousand more. 
And you can multiply the same by more than 

twenty-four. 
And still you haven't half enough— an honest 

man must own— 
Who sat enraptured hearing your inspiring 

saxophone. 

—87— 



May time deal with you leniently, and may the 
future bless 

Your useful years that are to be with peace 
and happiness ; 

And may the power you possess— the master's 
highest art, 

Remain with you for years and years to glad- 
den every heart. 

And now I toast your health, old friend, with 

sentiment sincere- 
Long lease of life and happiness and hope and 
joy and cheer : 

You've earned this eulogy, my friend, and I 
would have it known 

There's only one Lefebre ever played the saxo- 
phone. 



^•ofC, 



WASHINGTON. j 

FIEST in war— no task how e'er so great 1 

But he accomplished, and his work sur- i 

vives ;— I 

He gave us freedom's independent state — j 

A legacy more precious than our lives. | 

}. 

First in peace— his clear unruffled mind i 

Inspired the infant government with zeal ; I 

Strong and yet gentle, steadfast and yet kind I 

He solved the problem of our common weal. ! 



First in our hearts forever and a day 

His light shall shine like some refulgent sun — 

A beacon light to guide us on the way 

Our own revered, immortal, Washington. 



